


Bad Blood

by Dancewithknives



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A - Freeform, Angela "Mercy" Ziegler-centric, Bad Blood, Battle, FUCK, Mercy vs Moira, Other, Out, Overwatch - Freeform, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Tranny, gets, knocked, the
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-06 07:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14636520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancewithknives/pseuds/Dancewithknives
Summary: Moonlighting as heroes once more, Dr. Angela Zieger travels to Austrailia to thwart a terrorist attack in the Outback. What is waiting for her is a grudge that had been festering over bad blood for too long.5 chapters total, will be updating once very few days.Special thanks to Twilight_crow for editing.





	1. The Sailor, Soldier, Hunter, Doctor, Scientist and Student

Bad Blood

The Sailor, Soldier, Hunter, Doctor, Scientist and Student

 

After the nukes went off, the highways stretching across the Australian outback had gone largely abandoned. Black asphalt ran the length of the wasteland from one end of the territory to another. The yellow lines had begun to fade, the smooth surface had cracked, and sand had begun to scatter across the road. Yet, for as much as it needed maintenance, the road was still functional.  A car sped down the highway, its city tires and adherence to the long since ignored posted speed signs a strange difference from the regular passing Junkers speeding by at whatever speed they felt at the moment in an armored roadsters tied together with the salvaged remains from the leftovers of society.

 

The airport rental drove on towards the distant mirage where the road met the sky. The driver of said vehicle, after realizing that there was no need to keep an eye out for fellow motorists, found herself looking out at the scenery surrounding the road. It was strange, the vast open expanse of the Outback, the large hills which had to have been miles away, looked remarkably close in the empty space between them. Where she was from, the highways were surrounded by forests that would either stop the passenger’s view at the treeline or gave a proper scale to the great distance between them. She almost wanted to get out and take a picture of the stretching orange dirt and cacti spotted landscape, but she wasn’t here to sightsee.

 

The car traced down the road for many miles before jetting off at an exit, following that road for miles until it itself turned to gravel. The car finally stopped when it approached a lonesome shack on the side of the road and rolled to a stop.

 

It was a single story plantation house, its paint had long sense been blown away, revealing pressure treated wood that had turned black and gray from the exposure to radiation from the sun’s burn or nuclear fallout. The shutters on the windows had fallen off and were half buried in the dirt, and all the windows had been broken.

 

The driver set the vehicle in park and shut off the engine. The door was opened and the driver swung her legs out and stood. Doctor Angela Ziegler MD, stood beside her vehicle and looked into the house. It looked abandoned, but she knew this was the right spot, she had followed the directions as provided, and four other vehicles foreign to the Austrailian wasteland had been parked in front of the house as well.

 

She took a deep breath, breathing in the strangely pure air. She had been in enough labs to tell the scent of recycled and sterilized air. It was odd, especially for being outside in such a large open space, but what was even more jarring was how hot it was outside. Even a few seconds out of her air conditioned rental made her regret wearing jeans and a blouse. She walked to the trunk of the car and popped it open, grabbing a large hip high attaché case and pulled it from the back and set it on its wheels. She closed the trunk and looked out at the horizon, seeing a large white complex standing out from the rest of the sun baked barren outback. It looked to be so close that she could see the massive input and output fans, sucking in and blowing out air, but like with the rest of the of the scenery, it was so large yet far away that it lacked anything to compare with.

 

She wiped her forehead, already sweating, and pulled her blonde bangs aside. She extended the case’s carry along handle and pulled it through the sand towards the house. She dragged it up the steps onto the porch and approached the front door, giving the charred wood a gentle knock, only to have it open.

 

She entered the house and closed the door behind her.

 

Although it was free of the sun, the inside of the old house was more akin to stepping into an oven. She could hear voices inside, so she followed to where they were coming from.

 

She entered what she assumed at one point was the living room. The carpet was spongey and full of mold, and on the opposite side of the room was a dusty stone fireplace. Couches and armchairs were placed around the mantle, and sitting in the room were the owners of the vehicles outside. Although the furniture was intended to be placed around the fireplace, now it was being used to view a whiteboard and a projected image on its surface.

 

A man wearing black tactical pants and a bulletproof vest with a deep scar across his face was speaking before the image, and upon seeing the most recent guest arrive, had his expression lighten up. “Doctor, glad to see you’ve made it. I was afraid you weren’t going to make it in time.”

 

“Sorry,” she replied, “my luggage was lost at the airport. I was afraid I would have to come empty handed.”

 

Jack Morrison, former commander of Overwatch and reported as having been deceased, shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’m just glad we have a full strike team.  You should get ready though, time’s running short.”

 

The doctor scanned across the room, looking at all of the other team members present.

 

Sitting on the ground to the furthest from her was a large blue Gorilla. Doctor Winston, the ape from the moon, waved at his old colleague as a smile stretched across his pearly white fangs. His custom bodysuit had already been equipped with its jump jet rocket boosters and his weapon of choice, the Tesla canon, was within arm’s reach. He was here on a scientific venture to study the recovering flora and fauna of the radioactive outback.

 

 Sitting on a folding chair nearby was a young freckled brunette. Lena Oxton was holding her trademark single lens goggles in her hand and was rubbing her eyes. She was wearing her normal attire of sweat resistant athletic wear, and as always, her chronal accelerator was fastened to her chest and back. It would have been easy to assume that Dr. Winston had taken their rendezvous to do a checkup on his invention, for it would have been awfully inconvenient for Lena to experience a malfunction and become a singularity in time during tonight’s events. She looked to have been nodding off during the briefing and the doctor’s entrance had excited her back to life. Apparently her reason for being here was claiming to be a student studying abroad in the ex-English colony.

 

Sitting on a coach right before the projector was a young Middle Eastern woman, although the youngest present, one would not have assumed that to be while she wore her Raptora Suit. The Helix Securities battle Armor was in standby mode, rocket jets folded on her back and all combat systems besides augmented strength offline. Captain Fareeha Amari nodded at the new arrival as she gave her man-operated Antipersonnel rocket launcher one final 12-point inspection. The Soldier volunteered to take the experimental armor out on an expedition to see the extent that could function if taken to the limits and as she had discussed with the armorer, there was no better place to do so than the Australian outback.

 

Seated nearby but far enough away to not rouse suspicion was a wraith of a figure. They wore an old set of body armor with multiple layers of overlapping Kevlar plates, a few generations old but functioned the same. They wore a black hood and coat over the armor and bandoliers with accents of dark blue and purple to it. Completing the protection of their identity was a modern military helmet with a one way visor covering the face entirely. A blue triangle glowed against the glass of their Heads Up Display, causing the uninformed to wonder if the individual beneath it all was human or omnic, but that didn’t matter, the only thing that did was their reputation that when a bounty came up on your head, The Shrike always got their quarry.  The Shrike looked at the Doctor and nodded. Angela was about to greet them but stopped, she didn’t want to raise any suspicions to the uninformed in the room. Even if she wasn’t one of the few people in the world who knew of the mysterious Bounty hunter’s identity. The Pneumatic biotic Rifle was far too much of a coincidence to not be in the possession of anyone besides the late Captain Ana Amari of Overwatch.

 

Jack Morrison, the thought-to-be deceased Ex- Commander of Overwatch, didn’t require much introduction, just that a recent career change from outlaw vigilante to cargo ship sailor had been his means of travel to the continent.

 

And then there was Angela, the sixth man of their fire team. Doctor Extraordinaire, a brilliant prodigy who had spent more time under fire than under a surgical lamp. It was almost like a reunion of sorts, all Overwatch alums joining together to moonlight for old times sake.

 

Angela looked to the side and saw an empty room off from the meeting and nodded towards it. “I’ll go get ready then.” She said, wheeling the suit case with her into the room to get some privacy but still be within earshot.

 

Morison began once more, “I’m glad to see everyone is here now. An informant from the inside has tipped us off that Talon is planning to launch a raid on the Ishtar Collective’s nearby cleansing facility. Their goal is to steal the refined collection rods stored within the underground storage unit beneath the complex. The Facility has been collecting and nullifying the radiation ever since the bombs dropped back in the Omnic crisis, and being that we’re all not wearing hazmat suits right now, it isn’t hard to guess that they’ve been busy at work.

The Commander went over recon photos of the facilities, where the guard positions were, towers, fields of view, and the different buildings in the “Even if they manage to extract a single core, it could be as powerful as a two megaton payload. So we can’t let that happen. Make no mistake, though. We may be the good guys, but were just more targets to the security measures at the facility. Just remember, Talon is the threat here, avoid Ishtar’s security teams if you can, but remember that if it comes down to it, its either going to be you or them. Any questions?”

 

“Yes,” came a voice from the back of the room. Jack looked away from the projector screen and towards the source of the commotion.

 

Although she had entered the side room as Angela Ziegler, Mercy was the one who had returned to the living room. Her suitcase now gutted and empty, the Doctor stood with her blonde hair up in a high ponytail. Carbon nanofiber nylon leggings and knee high metal boots had replaced her jeans. A flexible white breastplate covered her torso to her neck while a black null-layer skinsuit covered any other exposed skin below her jawline. Last but not least, a pair of metallic wings unfolded from her back, stretching out to ignite large golden feathers made of hard light material. She walked up to the couch with her six foot long Caduceus Staff in hand, using the long healing utensil as a walking stick as she approached. She continued, “How do we know that they won’t attempt an underground insertion? Wouldn’t that be more discreet?”

 

“Good question. They have to do a ground insertion because attempting to dig into the facility is too easy to detect. Seismic equipment was installed to monitor potential earthquakes that could compromise the foundation or detect if the junkers tried to dig their way in. If talon tried to dig in it would take days of work and they would be detected before they even got close to the vault. Anything else?” The room was silent, the ex-commander took the cue and nodded. “Good, now all we have to do is wait.”

 

Meeting adjourned, the group separated to do their own preparations for the assault.

 

Mercy found herself preparing her staff for what was anticipated to be a long night of use, she checked the nanobiotic mister and dispersion pylons, test firing it and checking to see that the pistons and containers were spinning easily and that a yellow healing gas was flowing freely on command.

 

Satisfied, she set the staff aside and pulled out a makeup mobile and was giving herself a proper checkup. A near decade of combat medicine had not deterred her from looking her best during a crisis, and being shot at while possessing the authority of the United Nations was no different than being shot at while working off the books.

 

She popped the compact container open just in time to see fareeha approaching from behind.

 

The Helix Securities officer chuckled at the sight and said, “taking care of what matters most, right?”

 

Angela turned and smiled, “of course. Do you need a spot up?”

 

Fareeha shook her head and gave a curt, “No.” After a moment of silence, Fareeha continued, “I thought I’d let you know that nobody has broken your pull up record yet.”

 

“Oh… really?” said Angela, trying to cover up her arms to hide her upper body strength.  Half a lifetime of lugging around medical equipment around a combat zone enriched her strength of mind and body. Sadly though, it hadn’t taught her how to shoot with her eyes open. Luckily that wasn’t anything that a few weeks at a Helix Securities CQB flash-course couldn’t fix. “Well, I’m sure someone will, eventually.”

 

“Sure they will,” Fareeha laughed, looking over the mechanical wings and healing staff beside Angela. “Just remember your training and we’ll get through this just fine.”

 

Angela put on a brave face, but could not smother the muscle memories of being hit in the face repeatedly with a foam cushioned battle baton or how much her knuckles hurt after she threw a punch for the first time in her life. Ready or not, if it came down to it she would have to be ready to fight for her life, not for her own sake, but to ensure that the people she cared for-the Commanders who changed her life, the colleague she worked with, the recruit who fought for her, and the child she helped raise all those years ago- were all going to walk away safely by the end of the night.

 

Angela was about to continue the conversation when a shout was heard throughout the abandoned house, “Look alive everyone.” Morrison reentered the room, mask covering his face and concealing his identity, “It’s time to roll out.”

 


	2. The Doctors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beginning of the assault

Bad Blood Chapter 2

 

Whoever was supplying Jack with information was worth every cent they were paid. Jack Morrison had been surveilling the facility when all of the facility lights went off. A telltale sign of the tactical EMP that had been foretold. Soon afterwards, two dropships darted through the sky. Although they were as dark as the night, the red hot engine and thrusters made tracking them easy in the open outback sky.

 

Then the shooting began. One transport landed and deployed its shock troopers to take the backup generator. The second deployed at the barracks, opening fire on the security within before they had any idea of what was happening.

 

Like a fury set free, Fareeha raced through the sky, her jump jets hovering in the air and then launching her further into the sky at a whim, dodging enemy fire and returning in kind with a volley of rockets. Her missiles, while much slower than normal projectile rounds, caused havoc among the Talon troopers, dispersing and disorganizing their push into the facility, making movement across open ground dangerous, and return fire sloppy.

 

While the impromptu strike team held air superiority, the other four members of the team held the ground, further locking the raiders at bay while the Ishtar Collective’s security forces regained control of the situation.

 

Angela floated behind the younger woman like an angel taking her monster out to exercise, the yellow trail of Nanobiotic medicine bonded the two together like a dog and its master’s leash. Every time a stray round found its way to Fareeha, the nanobiotics would immediately expel the bullet, mend the flesh, and make the wound disappear. The doctor’s wings gave her a gentle descent as she hovered in the air, but with a push of the controls built into the palms of her gloves, the automated boosters built into her armor would lock onto her tethered target and jet up to her side, commencing a dance of fireflies in the night bobbing and coasting through the dark sky.

 

From her perspective, a dense fog began to cover the ground, covering the battlefield with a thick opaque smoke. 

“They’re deploying smoke grenades!” reported Lena over the radio. “I’m moving in, but I could use a hand.”

 

Angela activated her radio, “I’m coming, Lena,” She replied, and then turned up to see Fareeha nearby in the sky and ordered her to take care of herself.

 

Angela folded her wings in, allowing the air to flow past as she descended, moving faster and faster as she reached terminal velocity, only to open up once more and slow her acceleration to a crawl, landing squarely on her feet.

 

Like an Angler Fish’s lure, Lena’s chronoal Accellerator glowed in the thick cloud, acting as a lighthouse for her allies, and a decoy for her enemies. The woman ran through the smoke, grabbing the attention of the Talon soldiers as the light pierced the dark, and by the time they had aimed their rifles, it was too late, her time abilities blinking her off in an unpredictable direction or rewinding back to where she was a few seconds earlier.

 

Dr. Ziegler followed after the bobbing blue light, doing her best to keep the connection between her and her charge constant, knowing full well that her glowing wings and halo revealed her position as well, but having faith in Lena’s abilities to keep her safe.

 

Although mostly blinded by the opaque smokescreen, Angela could still hear in the darkness, mainly using the low drumming of Lena’s machine pistols to help home in on the English woman. But what came as both a relief and a worry was the sound of new weapons added into the fray. A rising hum, as if it were coming from an angry swarm of hornet or the distinct whine of automatic power tools began to buzz in the ambiance. It was the distinct report of the weaponry of choice of Ishtar Defenders, a hard-light based particle lance, locking onto enemies in its effective range and hitting them with a barrage of radiation. It was good to see that there were survivors from the attack, but they would see Angela and her team no different than the Talon insurgents that they wished to stop.

 

“Tracer,” Angela called out, “We’re going to be in a cross fire, we need to get out!”

 

Lena’s guns charged their internal batteries and unleashed another quick volley into the flank of the Talon forces, but through the luminescent bullets, Angela caught a glimpse of her ally’s target. He wasn’t holding his rifle, he was reeling back his arm, pumping up a throw and the unexpected bullets that hit him stopped him short, dropping a flashing red object on the ground.

 

“Oi! Hit the dirt!” Lena shouted. Angela turned to run, but no sooner had she turned around that she felt a gust of wind, thick like a brick wall and as hot as a fire slam into her back, lifting her off her feet and slamming her into a wall.

 

The doctor fell off the wall and slid onto the ground. Her head was spinning, ears were ringing and the world itself was a large cloud of dust.  She rolled over onto her front, then tucked her legs in and pushed herself back into the wall to reorient herself.  She could hear people talking, but couldn’t understand them. The grenade seemed to have dissipated the smoke, but the dirt it kicked it had taken its place. Angela squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hand against her forehead, trying to squeeze her cognitive chaos back into working order.

 

Unlike the smoke, the dirt was heavier, and luckily was beginning to settle back down on the ground. Unfortunately, the vertigo she was experiencing wasn’t going away as quickly as her vision was, and she knew that she was completely exposed against the wall.

 

She wasn’t the only one afflicted by the clumsy explosive. One of the Ishtar’s Fold Brides, Hardlight folding engineers who were responsible for the upkeep of their facilities, had landed nearby. Luckily, she had not been better off than Angela was after the shared attempt on their lives.

 

A dark shroud cut through the airborne debris. It made no sound or recognizable report that Angela had heard before, but the Bride’s cries of agony were universal. As the dust cleared, a shadowy mixture of dark red, black, and purple energy surrounded the worker, causing her to writhe in pain as she thrashed around in the dark, trying to force away an attacker that she couldn’t even feel. She kept throwing her arms and legs out until it seemed that she ran out of energy and collapsed in the dirt, dead.

 

Angela focused, watching for assailants approaching through the debris of the battlefield, and through the remains of the dust she saw a figure approaching. Whatever it was, it was slender, with thin legs and short boney arms, but at the same time supporting a large and bulky yellow tank on its back and covered in glowing tubes that lead around its body.

 

As the figure came closer, the doctor could make out more of the enemy, but each detail only brought another mystery. Thin straight arms were extended all the way at its side, each one leading to boney hands and long, talon-like, fingernails. The gear looked strangely like an old medical robe but built out of flex armor and horn like protrusions on the side of her head, very much like the doctor’s own Valkyrie suit.

 

It wasn’t until the smoke finally cleared and the figure was standing over the shriveled up corpse of the Ishtar Collective member that she finally saw the catalyst that put all of the pieces together, a short haircut full of striking red hair.

 

Seeing, but not believe it, Angela asked, “Doctor O’Deorain?”

Hearing her name, the woman looked up from her kill and turned to the source of the question, seeing Angela against the wall. The intruder, recognizing who had called out her name, smiled, revealed sharp and pointed canines within her mouth, “Well, isn’t this a treat.” She said.

 

 


	3. Meeting

Switzerland, 10 Years earlier

 

Dr. Angela Ziegler entered into the Genetics lab at the Overwatch’s Gibraltar Watchpoint. Although her presence hadn’t been announced, all of the staff present pulled themselves away from what they were doing and greeted her.

 

Although somewhat unbecoming in a labcoat and scrubs, the young doctor returned the greeting in kind. She raised her hand, showing them all a white porcelain coffee mug with a red cross and the words “First Aid” on the side.  “Is your coffee machine working?” she asked, smiling to hopefully distract from the unflattering blue scrubs she was wearing, “the one in the medical department is down for maintenance.”

 

To the doctor’s fortune, the lab techs either didn’t seem to notice the garb or were experts at hiding it as they all pointed to a corner in the lab as she passed. Angela slinked around the lab tables and experiments until she came to a side counter where a machine had just finished dripping brown liquid into a clear glass pot. She pulled the pot out and gave the mug a fill, replacing the carrier and then bringing the distilled concoction up to her lips.

 

“Doctor Ziegler,” Angela froze on the spot with the hot liquid on her lips. She slowly turned around and lowered the cup. Standing at the doorway to her office was the head of the Genetics department, Doctor Moira O’Deorain. She wore a pair of black slacks and vest underneath her labcoat and was standing straight up in the center of the doorway, her arms locked straight down at her sides with her fingers out. “Would you mind indulging in some coffee with me? I have just finished a fresh brew.”

 

“Of course, yes.” Angela replied, “I just so happened to have poured a cup myself-”

 

“Leave it.” The Irishwoman demanded, the words shocking the air. “that’s peasant’s filth compared to my collection.”

 

Angela looked down reluctantly at her drink, not wanting to waste a perfectly good portion of a fresh pot but at the same time not wanting to test the doctor’s hospitality. After a moment of thought, Angela left her cup at the machine and entered into Dr. O’Deorain’s office. She hadn’t used it yet today, and hopefully someone else take not let the portion go to waste. She didn’t mind having to wash it later.

 

Dr. Ziegler entered and took a seat on the opposite side of the desk when requested to. Her host was behind her, tending to the offered drink and giving Angela the time to inspect the office. Overall nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, but the few things caught Angela’s eye. The first was a plaque by the window proudly displaying Dr. O’Deorain’s doctorate in Genetics. Beside it was another plaque, boasting membership into the Mensa International Society of high Intelligence. Angela scanned the desk, and the only thing of note was a vocabulary calendar, and it looked to be that today’s word was “Ameliorate”.

 

Noticing that it had been a bit of time since she sat and had last seen the doctor, Angela turned her head and asked, “If it’s not too much of a bother, I prefer having my coffee black.”

 

“Oh, what I have in store is much better than that boiled mud that ‘the help’ serves themselves.” Angela jumped, feeling her fellow Doctor place her hands on her shoulders and the poke of her nails against her skin. “Besides, Peruvian Red Label is a drink that requires a more… educated taste. I know someone with your ingenuity should understand. ”

 

Angela agreed, keeping her composure to not test her host’s hospitality, but at the same time felt like a rabbit staring down a large wolf, trapped in its paws as it scratched her behind the ears and invited her to its den for lunch.

 

Luckily, Dr. O’Deorain’s brew was ready soon after and she set a cup in front of her guest and took a seat at the helm of her desk with her own serving.  They both raised their respective glass and Angela took a sip. She let the drink hit her tongue and all she could do was blink. The coffee… It was lukewarm, bitter –which for someone who had a minor addiction to 100% Swiss chocolate, was an impressive feat- and had a texture comparable to ash. It was so incredibly awful that it took all of her willpower to not repulse at the sensation in her mouth.

 

“Divine?” Moira asked.

 

“Yes, it has quite the unique flavor.” Angela replied, tongue forcing her eyes to blink out an S.O.S. signal as she finished her first and last sample. Angela pretended to enjoy her drink as she waited on Moira to finish her tug from the cup. Angela took the time to marvel at the strange duality of her colleague. Her wardrobe, a finely pressed and tightly fit vest and tie was well enough on its own, but had a jarring clash with her incredibly long and manicured fingernails. Her hair was short and would have been easily unremarkable if not for the fact that it was a stunningly bright red.  It almost seemed to manifest within her DNA, the doctor’ Heterochromia (different colored eyes) was striking to the uninformed, and it didn’t take a PHD for someone to notice the clash between the doctor’s identity and her prominent Adam’s apple, hinting at what other dualities lie beneath the surface. Even now, the special invitation into her office to share her personal favorite brand of coffee seemed friendly, but the Doctor’s appearance, the awkward way she carried herself, her long talon like nails and vampire-esque teeth made Angela feel uneasy, almost as if she was Gretel sitting at the Witch’s dinner table

 

But, none of that really mattered to Angela, for what truly interested her was the meaning behind the doctor’s offer. She had heard the rumors of how the geneticist treated her staff, moments beforehand she had even witnessed her talking down to her subordinates in front of a colleague, so there definitely had to be more to this meeting than simply wanting to share a pot of coffee. 

 

“Now, Doctor Ziegler,” Moira began, “I have a proposal I have been meaning to discuss with you.”

 

“By all means, continue.”

 

“I find your continued advancement in Nanobiotics quite impressive. So much so that I would like to propose the services of my own resources into the field to explore a means to ameliorate its functionality. I would find it more advantageous if we could properly implement genetic coding and insertion into the nanites to expedite healing as well as deter theft of medical supplies if it is all genetically based. It may even… ameliorate our forces in combat if our combined departments can refine the substance to counteract and even subdue hostiles in a combat environment. Envision a world where thugs and warlords cease monopolizing relief aid because the stocks are useless to all but the prescribed, revolutionary means to facilitate medical assistance but only to known parties who are in need of assistance, or even a means to end a conflict by enriching a resource so that it will repulse our enemies. We can take your family’s breakthroughs in medical application and expand it in ways that not even I can envision. ”

 

“ _So that’s what you’re after…_ ” Angela thought. Dr. Ziegler was the head of the Medical department, and for such a large cross department project it would require her review before it could begin, but what she truly wondered about was the means of which Dr. O’Deorain had proposed it. There were proper channels to communicate initiation of a new research project. Sure, it wasn’t any rule against discussing a crazy harebrained idea or ask for help ironing out an official request at a watercooler or over coffee, but her delivery and commitment to the proposal seemed more than just a casual discussion between two coworkers. “An interesting idea.” Said Angela, “If you could submit all that you had in mind, I would love to look into it when I had more time and come back to discuss it with you.”

 

Angela didn’t like lying, and to her a lie by omission was still a lie. Yes, it was better to leave a door open rather than slam it shut on people, but she already objected to the proposal. Medicine was about breaking down barriers, not reinforcing them. If a procedure could cure a disease for 99% of people, then it was her job to find a means to help the remaining 1%, not finding ways to segregate the other percentage into smaller and smaller groups. Yes, there were problems when it came to issues in the world and treating people, but to her, the solution wasn’t to make care exclusive. As a physician, the application of her skills shouldn’t be determined based on their sex, race, or creed. Medicine was medicine, and if she were put into a situation where she had to treat two diabetics, one being an innocent child and the other being a mass murdering terrorist, it was her job to supply insulin to both of them.

 

The Oath she swore when she became a doctor was to “do no harm”, not “do no harm to certain people”, and from what she had heard, Moira’s proposal was sounding less like medicine and more like bioweapons.

 

Dr. O’Deorain gave a sigh, “I’m afraid you would say that…”

  

Angela raised an eyebrow, “What’s wrong, Moira?”

 

“Angela, I…. I made a mistake.” Those were four words that Angela did not expect to hear. “It seems that my own moral convictions were compromised by my ambition to optimize Nanobiotics in the field. In hindsight, I should have gone through the proper means to propose consolidating genetic inception in Nanobiotics, but I have already begun on the project. I had erroneously assumed that you would be as spirited as I in the premise and would see the benefit of the project as I do.”

 

“Ah, I see.” Said Angela. Ambition was a vice that she was very familiar with, but it seemed that Angela had better control over it. It all made sense now, Moira had broken the rules and was in a bit of a bind. Maybe the doctor was looking to explore the prospect further, but at this time she seemed to be desperate, trying to find a means to cover her tracks lest her actions come back to haunt her. Then, a thought occurred to Angela, an opportunity to possibly change her colleague. Dr. O’Deorain felt confident in confiding her wrongdoing in Angela, so she must have at least seen her as an equal, and possibly if she were to assist in helping Moira out of her problem, then maybe the kindness would change her. With a little bit of legal footwork, she could commence the project, have a few dates switched around on the research logs, and then cancel the project later and it would all blow over.

 

Angela checked her watch, seeing that she was going to be needed in surgery soon. “I suppose you already have a write-up of the project on hand already, yes?” Moira lit up at the premise and quickly dug into her desk, supplying a lengthy proposal on the issue and pen. Angela signed her endorsement on the paper, and then said, “Between you and I, I want to help you. But once you’ve helped yourself, please wait for me before continuing on. I want to have a full understanding of the concept before it goes any further forward.”

 

Moira breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank you, Dr. Ziegler.”

 

Angela stood, pushing her chair in and saying, “your welcome. I must be going” she looked at her cup of coffee, memory of how awful it was staining her taste buds, “Oh, and thank you for the coffee.” Before she left the office and closed the door behind her.

 

Moira sat for a moment, waiting like a statue as the doctor’s steps faded throughout the lab. When she was sure that she was alone, she smiled, long sharp canines poking out from behind her lips as she felt a sense of content fill within her.

 

“Fool.” She said.

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

Australia, Present…

 

Dr. O’Deorain seemingly disappeared from sight, leaving nothing but a trail of black smoke in her wake. Angela was still disoriented from the explosion and still had to leverage her weight against the wall. Weary and confused, Angela scanned the area, looking for her old colleague only to have her appear right before her.

 

Angela shrieked, but was cut short when Moira’s open hand slapped her across the face, sending Angela to the ground with long scratches across her cheek.

 

“You…” Moira said, “I’ve wanted to do that for far too long.” Angela brought her hand to her face, feeling the warm dripping down the side and was shocked to see blood on her hand. Her suit did as it was designed to and healed the cuts, but it couldn’t mend her fear.

 

“Moira… I-” Angela stammered. She raised her hand to defend herself

 

“You ruined everything for me. You stole my work, you cost me my reputation. You and that damn monkey.” She shot her right hand forward, and with it a ghostly vacuous suck began. It hit Angela on her arm, and immediately it felt as if the warmth was leaving her body.

 

Angela’s arm was cold, and then it felt as if it was deflating, draining away and shriveling up as the strength within it died. Angela gasped and withdrew the arm away, cradling it against her side as her suit’s operator health systems did its job and made the feeling come back.

 

Terrified, floored, and cowering in the shadow of her old colleague, Mercy could do nothing beg for forgiveness as she trembled with her back against the wall. “I’m…. I’m sorry!”

 

“You will be.” Dr. O’Deorain scoffed. Bringing back the hand that had stolen the feeling from Angela’s arm and inspecting the nails for any damage. She returned her glare to Angela and seethed, “You took my life away from me… Now its time for me to take yours!”

 

Her right hand shot down, wrapping her fingers around Angela’s neck and forcing her upright against the wall. Like before, the sounding of a disgusting leeching sound began right at the core of Angela’s body. She struggled against intrusion, but could do nothing. All she could see in that moment was those teeth, those eyes, those talons, those horns. It was everything that she had feared, but now manifested from her mind and coming to drain her soul. She was helpless, powerless to do anything as the life was stolen away from her body, the colors drained from her world and left nothing but a vacuous void.  

 

“You need a time out!” Moira dropped Angela at the sudden voice behind her. She turned around, seeing an adhesive time bomb stuck to the tank of stolen lifeforce on her back. She panicked, trying to reach for it until she disappeared into nothingness once more, sparing Angela in exchange for her own life.

 

The monster was gone, but Mercy was far from safe. Exhausted, drained, weak, she saw the bomb fall to the ground and lay in the dirt right in front of her, but she couldn’t run. All she could do was put her numb and pulsing arms up in front of her face and hope that her remains would be recognizable.

 

But, her time wasn’t up yet.

 

Angela felt a tight grip around her chest, someone had wrapped their arms around her in a loving embrace. Then, reality broke, pulling her away and jettisoning her from the spot. She couldn’t comprehend what was happening, only that she could see that the path she was being pulled from was retracing the steps of someone else. Tracks in the dirt which held the distinct indentation of shoeprints filled and vanished from sight as the dirt was returned to them.

 

Her ride ended and she was standing behind a nearby wall, in the safety of the rest of her strike team taking cover around the corner just as the bomb went off. From being empty and drained, Angela felt as if she had just been injected with an entire gallon of blood, pounding throughout her body and returning her organs from near death to fear-filled overdrive.

 

She was panting, delirious, confused. She tried to keep her balance but couldn’t stand upright. Luckily, the person who had saved her loosened their grip and directed her to the wall to keep her balance. Her rescuer stepped into view. Lena, with nothing but concern on her face, said, “That was a close one, doc.”

 

Angela couldn’t agree more, but also couldn’t find the words to do so. All she could do now was breathe, and hope that nobody noticed the warm stain in the crotch of her carbon nanofiber leggings as it slowly dripped down her legs.


	4. Bad Blood Ch 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Final confrontation

Bad Blood ch4

 

 

Doctor Moira O’Deorain strode down the line of Talon soldiers. The final dropship was flying off into the night, having delivered the last of their reinforcements, the contingency troopers that they had expected would only be reserved to do the heavy lifting when the job was done.

 

Almost all of the troops were wounded. Those that could still walk carried or dragged those that clung to life behind them as they regrouped. The gunfire had halted, and rumors had it that the shock troopers were still breaching into the complex. Things most certainly were not going according to plan, an unknown element had been added to the equation and Moira had an idea of what it was.

 

“Someone get me some morphine…” called one of the troopers. Moira rolled her eyes. She wasn’t some petty medic, running around giving overgrown crybabies bandaids. She was a scientist; she was best suited to be in the lab, not running around doing manual labor with the dogs.  With a groan, she brought her hands together, amassing yellow biotic energies into a condensed gob-like ball and then shoving her palms forward, letting loose the smart medicine and allowing the yellow mist to bowl through the troopers, healing the worst of their wounds and quelling their incessant whining.

 

She had to admit, though. For as much as she thought this was all a trifle, it seemed that Talon’s insistence on her participation in the mission was not all misjudgment.

 

“Envy.”

 

Moira turned around, seeing a hulking cloaked figure standing behind her. He was at least two heads taller than her and wore a large white angular skull mask to conceal his identity. “Reaper.” She replied.

 

“We’re behind schedule.” He stated. “I’m taking the last of the men who can stand and getting to that core. Once you’re ready, extract with the wounded. Leave one dropship on station for exfiltration.”

 

“ _Finally_ ,” she thought. She was about to comply with the orders when a sudden tugging occurred within her mind. She had no desire to be out working in the field like some sort of beast of burden, but at the same time she couldn’t compel herself to leave just yet. She had unfinished business that she couldn’t simply ignore.

 

“I assume you know who our company is, correct?”

 

There was silence as the dead man walking stared down at her. Finally, after the squeezing sound of his clenched fist crushed whatever life was still in his gloves, he answered. “Yeah…”

 

“So it seems that the rumors may be true, that… _he_ is still alive after all this time.”

 

“I know.”

 

It then occurred to Moira what this was. The mission was doomed, Talon must have ordered a retreat, and the plan that Reaper had informed her of was just his vendetta. He was going off the reservation on this one. For as strange as it was for Talon’s more regarded attack dog to break his leash, Moira couldn’t agree more.

 

“Well, since we both have the same understanding, then I must stay as well.”

 

“Fine,” he said, “But if you slow down, you _will_ get left behind. Got that?”

 

Moira smiled, her sharp teeth penetrating from behind her lips. “You’re not the only one with a score to settle, Gabriel.”

 

The Reaper grunted in approval. He then turned around and made hand gestures, assembling his squad and made his way towards the sounds of combat within the bowels of the complex.

 

At that moment, another Talon trooper came dragging a comrade towards Moira’s feet. She rolled her eyes, sighing at more peons arriving to seek her blessing. She stretched out her hand and sprayed a funnel of yellow healing mist at the two, a concoction generated through the stolen lifeforce of her victims.

 

The more abled man stood up straighter with his wounds healed, but the one he had been dragging through the dirt was still on the ground in pain.

 

Moira’s eyes opened in shock. Something was amuck here. Surely her invention was working as prescribed. It couldn’t be her methods. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

 

The man felt around his armor, feeling where the pain was. “I got hit,” he said, dabbing into a wet space on his uniform, “It was some sort of grenade that shot liquid on me. I… I can’t feel anything!”

 

Moira reached down, using her index and middle finger to sample the anomaly. Sure enough, as it dissolved against her skin she felt her fingertips grow numb. Curious, she gave it a small blast of healing energy, and strangely enough nothing happened. She pondered what the phenomena was, and after a moment, her eyes widened in shock.

 

Even after everything that happened, everything that she did, and after having Moira’s reputation turned to ash, Dr. Ziegler completed and found a means to actually realize Moira’s red herring proposal into targeted nanobiotic medicine.

 

Moira didn’t know if she should feel impressed by her stupidity or baffled by her ingenuity.

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Switzerland, Years Ago,

 

The Genetics lab was closed. All equipment was securely stored in their places, samples were placed in stasis units and all projects on hold until the next day. The lights were off, and the lab was all but vacant save for one person.

Doctor Moira O’Deorain was left in her workplace as the rest of the staff left the lab. She retreated into her office. Lights off, but sun still shining through the windows, Moira rounded the desk and sat at her chair. She pulled the phone from her handset and dialed a number. The doctor waited, listening to the dial tone and slowly growing bored of the chime. She bent her fingers down into her palm, inspecting the elongated nails. Using her thumb, she began to trace down the length of the each nail, following the hill and valley of each one until her thumb stopped, caught in a rut against the otherwise smooth surfaces. She kept going over it, tracing again and again until it finally chipped and left it broken, standing out from the rest.

 

“Damn it.” She whispered, berating herself for somehow not knowing what was about to happen to her nails.

 

“Well, that’s no way to greet someone…” answered a robotic voice on the other side of the line.

 

Moira groaned, looking at the chipped nail and said, “give me a moment.” She turned around, pulling a drawer open and revealing a fine multi compartment case inside the drawer and within it was an assortment of manicure equipment. She set the phone to speaker, the lab was locked and it would take someone with her level of clearance to unlock the door, so she knew that she was in private. She took the nail file and swiveled her chair to see the setting sunlight and began to file the offending piece of nail down.

 

“I must say that I am surprised. It seems that your plan worked.”

 

“Good.” The voice said, “I feel that I need to congratulate you on your work as well. I’ve had some of my own personnel look into your findings to ensure that the desired effect will be realized, and I must say I am impressed.”

 

“Of course, it is my own ingenuity after all.”

 

“Yes, yes. We’ve already begun circulating the information, when the word gets out that Overwatch has its hand in genetic poisoning, I am sure that the backlash will be severe.”

 

Still scratching away, Moira added, “Indeed, and when she is the one left standing with her name on the paper, you can guarantee that she’ll be desperate.”

 

“Your position within the organization is secured now. The only thing that has me concerned is whether ‘The Beauty Queen’ will be so willing to join us in the end.”

 

“ _The Beauty Queen…_ ” Moira felt her fingers tighten around the nail file, bending the stick and almost snapping it in half. “ _Doctor Ziegler_ ,” she corrected, “will not be a concern. With her reputation tarnished she will ran to you like a lover scorned.”

 

“Well, I trust your judgement if you are certain of it.”

 

“Believe me, I put on a show worthy of an Oscar for it.” Moira chuckled, trying to focus on the relaxing topic of filing her nails, but every time she thought of Angela in any shape or form she felt her heart race and tempo of scratching increase. “I do have to admit that I was wrong. When I first met her I thought she simply laid down and slept her way to the top, but she will suit your needs well. It is a shame, though, that such intelligence had to be wasted on a silly girl with a pretty face.” Dr. O’Deorain felt better, like a pressure release was venting off her hatred for the colleague.

 

“Oh, do I sense avarice?” the voice asked.

 

The doctor denied it, but everyone listening knew it was a lie. Moira saw the way that the men looked at her. Grown men, members of the scientific community, metaphorical gods that could control the future of human civilization, all reduced to mindless salivating dogs drooling at her like a juicy piece of meat. The thought of it, the anger that it brought her to, it made Moira recess back into her mind, back long ago when she vowed to not only conquer the world, but to it _her_ way. Back when Moira went by McGregor.

 

Moira stopped, in her fury, she had filed the nail down far too much, and now it was considerably shorter than the rest. She took a deep breath and then began working on the other ones, trying to even out the line. “Well, I do have to say that, in her hasty exit, it would be unfortunate if she were to experience an… _accident_.  I’m sure that all that would be needed are her cognitive functions.” Moira gave a chuckle, “After all, it may even be a welcome improvement.”

 

“Well, I’ll see what can be done, but lets not get too far ahead of ourselves.” The voice replied.

 

There was a crash, like that of a porcelain doll being thrown against a wall. Moira stood and turned, “Is someone there!” she demanded. She turned to the phone, “I’ll call you back.” She said before ending the call. Moira exited her office, not seeing anyone around, but noticing plastic containment sheets blowing in the wind as if the door had just been opened and closed.

 

She began to pursue, but stopped when she heard something breaking again. She looked down, and crushed underneath her shoe looked to be glass. She bent down, inspecting the evidence and saw it to be white porcelain, like that of a coffee mug. She felt the floor, and found to be standing in an odorous puddle of sorts. She dabbed her finger down, feeling the liquid between her fingers and then bringing it to her lips and tasting it.

It was a dark cocoa flavor, burned and liquefied. It tasted like coffee, not Peruvian Red Label, but some common brand, but incredibly cold. Then, there was something else, not a part of the dark liquid, but something that it happened to be sharing the same puddle with. It looked clear, but smelled almost like ammonia. It had a rancid taste and salty texture.

 

Moira pawed through the broken glass until she found a large section, she flipped it over, and saw a design being a part of the white glass.

 

“First Aid.”

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Present…

 

Talon Forces took cover at a T Junction, breaching a reinforced bulkhead that lead to the Cores that collected the radiation and purified the Outback. It was a large industrial service tunnel, at least twenty feet high and twenty feet long. Built to accommodate commercial moving and utility vehicles to service the reactor core.  Mercy, Winston, Tracer, Fareeha, The Shrike and Soldier: 76 held position at one end of the junction while members of the Ishtar collective regrouped and held the other end, slowly advancing towards all of their unwanted guests. Finally, there were the Talon troopers, taking cover at the side areas and on the supports of the tunnel and returning fire in both directions. As they held their ground, a large explosive was set on the door. The primary bulkhead to the core may have been several layers of steel with reinforced supports, but the charge placed at the center of the door was more than enough to best it. It was a circular set of shaped explosives, the casing of the bomb controlling the breach when the explosive went off, but what truly did the lion’s share of the breach was a small laser, tracing a circle around the explosive and cutting directly into the reinforced face and exposing the supports within. To the door’s credit, the charge wasn’t going to blow it all down, but that wasn’t necessary, just enough to fit a person through was all that was needed.

 

 

Behind their cover, the makeshift Overwatch strike team fired their weapons, aiming for the Talon soldiers while actively attempting to avoid collateral damage with the Ishtar Collective. The Ishtar on the other hand held no sympathies with them, and tried to incapacitate both parties and secure the bulkhead before containment was breached.  In the center of it all stood The Reaper, the big black spectre of death, with each explosive blow from his guns, he kept the Overwatch Alums at bay and swiftly pushed back any Ishtar advance.

 

Finally, the laser stopped. Like some sort of strange analog timer, the beam had cut a complete circle around the explosive, burning all 360’ and then the explosive began to glow from orange to red. It exploded, and before the flames had dissipated, the Reaper proceeded through the hole. His Talon guard deployed smoke grenades and to cover their retreat before advancing closer to the core.

 

“Damn it!” Jack Morrison shouted. He popped back behind cover and looked at his team. He reloaded his weapon and then declared, “I’m going in. Cover me.” Before bolting from behind cover towards the smoke.

 

“Oi, wait for me!” called Lena, blinking out from cover and following her commander into danger. Fareeha, used to being to being the one in command, groaned as she took to the air in pursuit.

 

The three disappeared into the cloud, and the remaining team watched as their blue pulse munitions flashed in the dark before heading into the hole. It seemed that their hasty advance was just in time, because the Ishtar Collective began to advance right behind them to attack the remaining heroes as the smoke dissipated.

 

But then something unexpected happened. As the Ishtar soldiers took position, they began to fall, one after another, they dropped like flies. The disguised Ana, Winston, and Angela watched, and from where the Ishtar soldiers had once taken position, another squad of Talon soldiers took their place, but this time being led by Dr. O’Deorain.

 

Angela felt the cold sensation of fear take over her once more. Dr. Winston saw the old accomplice and her advancing men and charged into battle, rocket boosters propelling the large gorilla into the air and landing where she stood, just for her to disappear as he landed.

 

He discarded his electrical tesla canon and turned to his primal strength, taking his massive mitts and batting all of the mercenaries away, throwing them into walls, each other, and down the hall where they lie incapacitated. He cleared the troops out, but just as things looked safe, he collapsed to his hands and knees, lacking the strength to support his great weight.

 

From behind his large form, Moira stepped aside, holding out her palm with what looked to be a dark leash, sucking the strength from his body.

 

“No!” Angela called out. The Irishwoman heard her voice and turned, laughing as she stole away the furry doctor’s vitality and scoffed at her concern.

 

Angela watched in horror as her friend, her colleague, her savior, lay defeated in the ground, powerless as he stared blankly at her. It was like a nightmare from many years ago becoming true. She was powerless, helpless to watch what unfolded, and knew firsthand what would happen next.

 

No.

 

That wasn’t how it was going to be. She wasn’t going to be a scared girl anymore, she was going to stand up and save herself this time.

 

Like cold propane sparking into a fire, Angela’s fear ignited within her with the burn of her beating heart. She burst forth from her protected position and sprinted forward, discarding her staff as she ran with all her might.

 

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Years earlier…

 

Although he had the body of a Gorilla, Winston tried with all his might to convince his human counterparts that he was just like them. He had the intelligence of his fellow scientist, and just like a real homosapien he had his own set of quirks and awkward moments. But even he knew that it wasn’t necessarily true.

 

One of the traits that he tried to hide was a strange sixth sense, his animal intuition. It was the strange ability that allowed him to sometimes _know_ when something wasn’t right.

 

He was in his lab, testing mobile particle barriers and their application when he had a nagging intuition trying to pull him away from his work. He waited, listening, watching, and his patience paid off when Dr. Ziegler burst into the lab in a panic, chest heaving and demanded to see him in private.

 

Before the scene could get any worse, he took her to a private room to see what the matter was.

 

Soon after, the two doctors were face to face, Angela sitting on the table with a spare set of scrub pants on while a mobile fan blew the stench of her urine stained trousers out the window. Her arm was in a vice, holding the limb while Dr. Winston took a med pack from the wall and began pulling shards of her broken coffee cup out of her bloody hand.

 

Winston went to work, dutifully using a tiny pair of tweezers in his massive hands to surgically remove each shard of the broken cup. As he did so, Dr. Ziegler muttered to herself in her native tongue, slowly becoming more coherent and when calm enough to think straight told Winston of the conversation that she had eavesdropped on.

 

She finished her tale by saying, “This can’t be happening, Winston. I don’t know what to do.”

 

“It’s alright.” He said, “that’s nothing to be ashamed off.” He pulled another shard out of her hand, adding it to the tray of bloody porcelain.

 

Practically sobbing, the doctor continued, “I… I just don’t understand? Why me? What did I do to deserve this? Why would she do this?”

 

“I know what we’re going to do.” He said, his tone even and calm. Normally, Winston was the last person to come for advice. Sure he had a good heart, but due to his upbringing on the moon, he lacked lifeskills that normal people took for granted, like how to make a list and go grocery shopping. It was almost like he had become a new person when he heard his friend’s story. “We’re going to finish cleaning this cut you have, and then we’re going to go straight to the Commander.”

 

Angela’s eyes shot open, almost shrieking, “No! we can’t do that! I… I already signed it… and she… She was going to have me maimed or killed! We just… we need to let this blow over. Just let it be and figure out what she wants and go from there. That’s it.”

 

Winston set the tiny tongs down and stood up on his hind legs, revealing how massive he truly was as he towered over her. “No.” he said. “The last time I thought I could just let something be when I could have stopped it; I lost everyone that I cared for. I’m not going to let that happen again.”

 

“I… I can’t.”

 

“Yes, you can.”

 

“I’m… I’m scared.”

 

“There are times when it’s better to flee. But this is a time to fight.”

 

“I don’t think I can…”

 

“It’s alright. If you can’t, then I will.”

 

Done, Winston dipped a bandage in sterilizing agent and then wrapped it around his friend’s hand, tying it tight until better medical attention could be done. He released Angela from the bind and then walked out the door, leaving her in the setting sun. 

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Within the hour, Doctor Moira O’Deorain was given a box and ten minutes to gather her most personal possessions and vacate the premises. Guards were stationed in her office, and when eight minutes passed, they entered and ordered her to follow them.

 

They escorted her out of the lab, down the hall, and towards the main exit. Their path lead through the medical wing, and as she marched, she couldn’t help but stop when she passed the door to the office of Dr. Angela Ziegler.

 

She stared inside the blurred office glass door, wishing that she could set fire to the room by the power of her hatred. Her escort paused, and after a moment a guard behind her shoved her on the back, demanding “keep moving.”

 

The lights were off. It didn’t look like its rightful occupant was inside, but regardless, Moira spat on the floor and cursed, “Stupid Swiss cunt.”

 

The parade continued, but Moira was wrong. The lights were off and the room looked abandoned, but its occupant was indeed hiding in the office.  Angela was in her chair, swiveled away from the windows and cradling her wrapped hand as she hid, cowering in the dark.

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

Present…

 

The situation was going straight to hell. No reinforcements, no backup, no room for error, Ana Amari in her Shrike disguise knew that whether she liked it or not, she needed to go with the flow to survive the  resulting chaos.

 

With her free hand, she reached down onto her bandolier and grabbed ahold of her last nano grenade. In one swift motion, she pulled the pin with her thumb, exposing the vial of DNA specific nanobiotic medicine from its protective casing and gave it a throw, landing across the back of its creator and splashing its contents all over Dr. Ziegler.

 

Like peroxide, the liquid medicine dissipated against Mercy’s skin, forcing itself into her body and boosting her vitality. In her haste, she didn’t even feel the impact. All she saw in the world was those two, the friend who came to her rescue at her darkest hour and that fiend, the woman who’s presence had haunted her from the corners of her mind for years.

 

All rationality was gone. Her emotions and memory took ahold and guided her as rage filled her body.

 

_There are times when you need to flee. But this is a time to fight._

 

Angry, she bawled up her hands into tight fists, squeezed her fingers tightly into her gloves and unintentionally mashed all of the controls of her suit, selecting and initiating the Valkyrie Protocol.

 

_I don’t know what to do…_

Valkyrie, the suit’s overdrive function, activated. The yellow hardlight wings burst into burning yellow feathers. The ambient healing unit kicked into overdrive, buffing and overloading the doctor’s muscle and adrenal glands as the nanobiotic boosters from Ana’s Nano grenade added fuel to the healing fire. The boosters built within her armor ignited and lifted her off the ground.

 

_I’m not going to let that happen again._

 

The increased functionality of the suit expanded the lock on range of the Guardian Angel dashing system. Without thinking of it, Angela locked on to Winston and activated the charge, blasting her down the hall towards them.

 

_I don’t think I can…_

_Yes, you can._

“GET AWAY FROM HIM, YOU BITCH!” She screamed.

 

Angela reeled her fist back. In that moment, she felt a surge coarse though her. It began in her toes, pulsed up her legs, combined into one burning body at her torso, rushed through her chest, and then manifested in her right fist; It was the accumulation of all of her emotion in that moment.

 

Angela felt all of her strength manifest at that moment. Her upper body strength, the thing that she was so embarrassed of that she hid behind long sleeves. The strength of a little girl carrying all of her advanced school books home from the University every day. The core of her body that trained late into the night so that she could follow heroes into battle rather than be crushed under the weight of her mechanical wings. The arms that she used to carry men to safety thanks to the chin-ups that she did in her office whenever she had free time between surgeries. The strength she used to pull wounded men from burning vehicles, and the endurance from when she had to drag heat-stroking Helix Securities recruits to the safety all came into play in that one brief moment.

 

Moira turned her head, wondering what that annoying cry that she heard was, and in that moment Angela let loose her fist. Forcing her left arm back to twist her entire body to become a single line, a freight train of mass and uncontrollable emotion as she let loose a haymaker with the power to pierce the heavens.

 

To her humility, she didn’t even know if it connected or not. In a flash, she saw Moira’s face as she turned and eyes widened at the oncoming threat, but Mercy didn’t even feel a thing.

 

Moira, on the other hand, had a very different experience.

 

Like it was being rocketed forward by a thermal nuclear explosion, Mercy’s fist met with Moira’s jaw and cheekbone. The jaw, feeling the unbelievable force, did what it had to minimize injury and immediately unhinged from the rest of the skull, but that wasn’t going to be enough. The blow continued, immediately setting a tooth free from its nest. The energy, transferred straight from the fist to the target, rattled the entire jawline. Muscle, bone, tooth, and nerve endings all vibrated and sent pain messages to the brain requesting help, but the messages simply weren’t fast enough. The kinetic energy of the collision continued transferring force into the vulnerable jawline, the unstable power of it all vibrating the entire system as it transferred from one end from another. As Sir Isaac Newton foretold, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and with nowhere else to go the vibrating energy reversed itself when it reached the end of the line and returned to whence it came.

 

The returning force met with the one still being added to the jawline, and a power struggle began. The return force seceded as the added force was far too powerful to resist, but like before, the energy that passed joined forces with the one wishing to return to the sender, and a battle between two immovable objects began. Like a teeter-totter having two anvils dropped on both ends at the same time, Moira’s jaw did the only thing that could do in the situation and shattered into a hundred tiny pieces, teeth breaking free of their roots like popped kernels on a red hot frying pan.

 

<https://dancewithknives.deviantart.com/art/MercyMeta-746564697>

 

Angela landed on her feet, and prepared herself to beat Moira to the counter attack. But what she saw was the woman lying several paces away. Mouth open and bellowing in pain, Moira ejected white teeth and bloody saliva from her mouth. Her shattered jaw was held together by the muscles in her face, much like a plastic bag holding a smashed tea cup.

 

Almost unbelieving what was happening, the Irishwoman reached into her mouth, hand trembling as she reached into her pounding jaw and-with a sound reminiscent of a plump turnip being pulled form wet soil- pulled and then discarded one of the sharpened canines that had haunted Angela for years.

 

Reality finally setting in, Dr. O’Deorain took her left hand and blasted a funnel of healing energy into her face. But shortly after, the tank of stolen life energy ran dry, and Moira was left with partially healed nerve endings that were screaming in pain. The doctor fell to her back, writing in agony over what had happened, and then saw Winston still on the floor.

 

Greedily, she reached her right hand out, summoning forth the ethereal force that stole the life energy from her victims. But before she could get a drop, a heavy boot stomped down on her hand, filling the air with the popping of crushed fingers and broken bones.

 

“Not this time!” Angela declared.

 

Moira rolled away, mouth shattered and hand broken, she cried out in pain as she suffered before her enemies. Angela lifted up her boot and stood with fists clenched at her side, controlling herself and the rage that she didn’t even know she had.

 

After suffering enough, Moira sat up and pointed with her unbroken hand at Angela and sneered with words that dripped with loathing and venom, “You…thhhhhstupid Thhwsisss Cun-”

 

Angela lost control again. Acting on muscle memory alone, she twisted her body, pivoting her leg up and throwing it around her body, using the swing to build up momentum as her armored boot met with the side of Moira’s head.

 

Angela stood frozen, body supported on her center of balance as Moira fell to the ground, blow completely knocking her out cold.

 

She lowered her foot to the ground, and not knowing how to dispel her pent up aggression, screamed into the air with an ear piercing cry that filled every corner of the Ishtar facility.

 

All done, she stood there, heaving over the body of her defeated adversary. Triumphant, like how Gretel from the old German folktale must have felt when she locked the witch in her own oven.

 

“Freeze!” came a male voice. Angela looked to her side and saw a masked Talon Trooper standing at her side, weapon shoulders and aimed right at her head. Although still heaving, she complied, standing still at the gunpoint.

 

Then, there was another click, and another voice spoke, “Trust me luv, she might be a dame to kill for, but she’s not worth dying for.”

 

The trooper stopped, and after a moment he raised his hand from the weapon’s grip and then deliberately and slowly moved his rifle away from his body, holding it off at the side with only his support hand on the barrel.

 

“Good call.” Said a third voice, and when the man began to step away, Angela saw Fareeha and Lena had been the ones behind him. Lena escorted him away while Fareeha removed the rifle’s magazine, unchambered the round, and then discarded it into a corner. The much younger woman looked at Angela, having witnessed the reverse-roundhouse kick and said, “Nice form, by the way. A little sloppy, but not bad.”

 

“What can I say,” Angela said, still having not taken her eyes off of Moira, “I learned from the best.”

 

A radio’s static filled the air. The group looked around and saw an earpiece at Angela’s feet. It must have fallen off of Moira during the struggle. The voice said, “Envy, mission failed. Get to the transports now or get left behind. Repeat, ge-”. Angela’s foot slowly put weight down on the small radio and crushed it underneath her metallic boots.

 

“Envy? That’s what you are now?” she asked. In that moment, looking down on the defeated form of her nightmares, she didn’t feel joy, or hate, or elation. All she could feel in that moment was pity. Her plaques, he vocabulary calendar, her hatred for Angela, it all began to make sense. It wasn’t just because she was a woman? Because she was comfortable with who she was? Because she was intelligent? Because she was liked and desired by her colleagues? What Moira desired was the image of it all, the admiration, the independence, the respect, and what Angela represented was that no matter how hard she tried, it would never be genuine.

 

In that moment, Angela realized that the monster that had hid in her metaphorical closet for so many years was nothing more than a ripped and ugly sweater.

 

Winston looked up at the battle angel, The Shrike at his side injecting him with medicine to rejuvenate the exhausted flesh. He had a first class seat to the showdown and knew what it meant more than anyone else. “Thank you.” He whispered.

 

“You’re welcome, Winston.” She said, but then added, “someone fetch me my staff and help me find all of these teeth. I have work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special illistration by Dr. Maniacal 
> 
>  
> 
> https://drmaniacal.deviantart.com/


	5. Bad Blood Ch 5

Bad Blood ch 5

 

The parking lot was largely empty. Angela felt that she should have been accustomed to it by now, but she could never shake the feeling that she shouldn’t have been here. She waited patiently, watching the clock on her vehicle’s dashboard as it slowly progressed through the day, occasionally looking up and watching the sentries in the towers make their rounds and scan the area for any anomalies.

 

Finally, when the time was right, she opened up her car door and exited. She closed the door, walking around to the passenger side and removing a paper shopping bag and a large disposable coffee cup. Hands full, she closed the door with her butt and then made her way towards the large structure.

 

She entered the yard, and walked in the alleyway between two fenced in yards topped with razor sharp barbed wire. Still early, the front office was empty sans the desk officer behind reinforced bulletproof glass. Being her normal cheery self, Dr. Ziegler approached and smiled, returning the guard’s greeting and signing in for her appointment. Familiar with the visitor, the guard checked to confirm that she had an appointment today and let her through the doors. Angela entered, and as usual, was required to remove any jewelry, electronics, and her shoes before stepping through a metal detector and getting wanded down for any foreign objects. Her possessions, gift and coffee included were sent through an X ray machine and were cleared for entry.

 

Approved, one of the guards stationed at the checkpoint chaperoned her through a set of double doors into a long hallway. Like a road, the floor was littered with lines and instructions instructing people on where to walk, where to stop, and where not to go lest they be punished. Angela was inclined to follow it, but being that they were intended for other individuals and the hall was empty, the guard ignored them until he reached a door.

 

Familiar with the guest, the guard gave a short crash course on how to summon assistance and other general rules and safety procedures before allowing her in and closing the door behind her.

 

The room was largely empty, the only thing of note were two metal chairs on opposite sides of a stainless steel table that was secured to the ground. On one side of the room was an automatic coffee machine with disposable cups on a sideboard table.

 

Angela set her large coffee on the table and tended to the machine, opening her paper bag and pulling out a store-bought brand of coffee mix. She checked the filter and set the machine to work, sitting at the table to wait.

 

After a few minutes, there was a buzz at the opposite door and then it opened. With a guard escorting her, Dr. Moira Odorian entered the room and stood at attention, eyeing down the woman sitting at the table. She looked unkempt and a bit disheveled, then again, Maximum Security Prison wasn’t necessarily known for its outstanding beauty standards. Her hair was messy and unruly. She wore an orange jumpsuit with her prisoner number on both the front and back, and her sleeves were rolled up, revealing her nails cut and tight band that ran the length of her wrists that covered the palms of her hands.

 

She entered as instructed and sat when told to. When ready, the guard took her wrists and uncuffed her hands. She rubbed the aggravated area when she received the small taste of freedom, and waited for the guard to exit the room.

 

“I’m glad to see your jaw is looking better, Moira.” Angela said. She then reached into her bag, pulling out the partially used bag of coffee that she brought in and set it on the table, allowing Moira to read the name. “Peruvian Red Label.”

 

At that moment, the coffee machine beeped that it was ready and began to fill its pot.

 

“Thank goodness.” Moira said, “I don’t know what worse here, the coffee or conversation.”

 

All Angela could do was sit back and smile.


	6. Bad Blood Deleted Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deleted scenes to Bad Blood

Bad blood : Deleted scenes

 

Hello, although I have two unrelated joke chapters planned for this story that I will write and publish when I get the time to, I wanted to go ahead and write the following. What is to follow here are two deleted events or alternative scenes that I was considering including in Bad Blood but decided to discard or did not chose to add them because other scenes would be more appropriate. The following will not be edited or will only be partially edited, being that they are not intended for the final draft. 

 

The first of which “The Punch” was the runner up to the confrontation between Mercy and Moira. Although the original was always intended to be the way that the story proceeds, I actually thought of this shortly before going to write the scene. I had to contemplate which of these two I wanted to do, and in the end I decided not to use this because it simply would have made Mercy come off as a mary sue.

 

Lastly, one thing I want to mention is that although there was no direct connections or comparisons, the conflict between Mercy and Moira was actually inspired by an old Cult Classic videogame called “Haunting Ground” on the PS2. In it, the main character is a young, hot, busty, blonde woman named Fiona who is pursued by a number of stalkers who are trying to murder you for their own reasons and you as the player are very limited in your means to defend yourself (Angela’s white German Shepherd ‘Gretel’ in my story ‘Genji’s New Puppy’ was a reference to Hewie the Dog). The second pursuer in the game is Daniellea The Maid, who is a homunculus designed to be the perfect woman, has eerie white skin and other bizarre traits but is crazy because she simply is not a woman. I felt that her insanity was a proper analogy of gender dysphoria and when laying out this story decided to go on a limb over Moira ambiguous nature and wrote her as a tranny.

 

Anyway, please enjoy.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

The Punch or: Hell hath no Fury…

 

The tips of Moira’s white teeth teased their way out of the thin slit of her mouth as she smirked. She stood, a hand casually out as she stole the life-force away from an immobilized Winston on the floor. It seemed that Revenge was a dish best served cold, but she had never consider how easy it would be. With one oversized rodent down, all she needed was to find that one spoiled brat and her hatred would be satiated.

 

“Get away from him, you bitch!”

 

Ah, and right on cue.

 

The Valkyrie Suit kicked into overdrive, pushing the levels on all of its systems to max and pushing its user’s vitality into overdrive. From across the room Ana watched what was unfolding with the forced understanding that there was little she could do to regain control of the situation.

 

Well, there was one thing.

 

Readying her last resort, Ana raised her wrist launcher and the payload of volatile nanites inside of a motorized hyperdermic injection delivery device. Suffice to say, it wasn’t cheap, but money is worthless to the dead. She took aim at the back of her charging Chief Medical Officer and let it fly, shouting “You’re powered up, get in there!”

 

Although it was a force akin to getting sucker-punched squarely in the back, Angela didn’t even notice the impact as her medically assisted growing rage skyrocketed and granted her with the strength to lift a building or shatter a mountain with a single blow. It empowered her, gave her the strength of one hundred men, the durability of a tank, and the ferocity of a mother Grizzly bear separated from the only surviving cub of her litter.

 

Angela locked onto her two old colleagues and her boosters rocketed her towards Doctor O’Deorain.

 

Moira saw the approach and laughed, calling out, “Yes! Yes! Come to me!” and spread out the fingers of her right hand and pointed it at Dr. Ziegler. Tightening the choke on the muzzle of her healing spray and kicking the engine and pressure of her tank of stolen life force to dangerous levels, Moira braced as her palm became the barrel of a cannon to a weapon of great power. Like gentle life-giving water being pumped into the pressure tank of a power washer, the normally benevolent healing energies were concentrated into a great beam of destruction as the fluid was turned to a force that could rend flesh from bones.

 

Dr. Ziegler took the attack head on, but could not stop. The powerful attack burned and slowed her approach, but the wounds were only flesh deep. Although Moira’s beam already possessed the strength to rip armor from a hardened target, Dr. Ziegler’s Valkyrie suit’s system was already at work deep within her body, embedded into her bones and regenerating her already super-powered nanite-infused cellular structure courtesy of Captain Amari.

 

 With every piece of ground that Dr. Ziegler advanced, Dr. O’Deorain upped the pressure of her blast, shouting “More! More!” as she increased the beam’s agonizing power against her enemy. But, like an oncoming freight train, Angela kept coming. Slowing down to the resistance, but never stopping in her advance.

 

Although joy and hatred had begun the confrontation, Moira began to feel the small inklings of fear grow in her mind as more and more of her tank was unleashed. But, the doubt only doubled her resolve as she cranked the tank all the way to its maximum setting with the intent to stomp her fear along with her enemy.  The beam grew, overtaking and forcing the Irishwoman to brace and back up at the might being summoned through her palm. The beam grew to a massive overpowering force, becoming an opaque yellow light, and like soldiers using humor to cover up their sorrow of lost comrades, Moira began to cackle like a witch as she unleashed the full might of her power.

 

She laughed, harder and louder as Dr. Ziegler slowed and disappeared within the blinding light. Elation took hold as Moira finally realized that she had won, and after all of these years, revenge was hers.

 

The only regret she had was that she doubted that there would be anything left of Dr. Ziegler to claim as trophy. If given the choice, she would have much preferred to save some of Angela’s genetic material to study the close relation her own physiology shared with her Nanobiotic invention after so many years of exposure. Likewise, Moira would have loved to study her own genetic makeup and try to isolate what in her DNA gave her such feminine traits.

 

But, as the ancient Norse Proverb goes, it isn’t over until the Valkyrie sings. Just as Moira had declared victory, a gloved hand reached through the precipice of Moira Ultimate attack and covered the opening on her wrist, completely withstanding and overpowering the most concentrated blast of her lifeforce laser. In units of time that were unobservable to the human eye, Moira’s triumphant laughter stopped as she watched in horror as the opening to her healing port was sealed, and with nowhere else to go, the turbine and engine to her stolen lifeforce tank jammed on its own gears and exploded off her back.

There she was, Dr. Angela Ziegeler suspended right before her with a fury that could hardly be described with words. In one fluid motion, the doctor twisted and pulled, breaking Moira wrist and pulling her closer as the resistance to her acceleration ceased and her free fist flew.

 

Like a cannonball being shot through a matchbox city, Angela’s fist connected with Moira’s upper jawline. The protected knuckle of her gloves met with Moira’s front Incisors and drove them back, straight through her gums and out of her nasal cavity. Everything else that had the audacity to stand in the way of Mercy’s fist either broke, retreated, detached, or was simply turned to pulverized dust.

 

Time slowed, seconds lasting hours, heartbeats lasting minutes. Although powerless to resist, Moira retreated deep into her mind to the thing that she treasured most, her intellect. A gift that went hand in hand with her intelligence, Moira’s mind went into overdrive to process and observe the world at an accelerated rate. Normally this special talent was reserved for when her genius needed to process something complex or to observe and dissect a conundrum quickly by thinking faster, but here, she simply used it to prolong the inevitable and enjoy a few moments before the pain came.

 

Although knocked off her feet, face creating an exaggerated reaction to the blow, and a fist in her mouth, Moira froze in the moment as the victim of her own hubris and through her eyes pleaded to any god that was listening, “What… is that?”

 

It was reflexive, instinctual of a question to ask as she cherished her final moments before taking her punishment, but nonetheless she received a response.

 

“Me?” replied a voice. It was foreign, calm, and what unsettled Moira the most, curious. Someone -or more possibly- something had broken into the sanctuary of her mind and was plundering her last tranquil moments of peace. She scanned for the intruder but was unable to find them within the frozen moment in time until her gazed happened to pass over Angela, and although her face was taught, stuck in a moment of violent and animalistic ferocity, Moira came to the shocking realization that Angela was here as well.

 

Like Lyssa, the Greek God of Wrath, Angela looked down upon Moira with the gaze of an angry god about to punish an atheist who held the audacity to challenge her divine power. Answering through her own eyes, Angela said, “I’m a doctor. Now take your medicine.”

 

Having the purity of her enlightened mind breached and defiled, Moira suffered in silence as every individual pain was fully dissected and realized as the woman she tried to defame punished her for her wrong doings.

 

When it was all said and done, it took the combined strength of Jack Morison, Fareeha Amari and Winston to remove Angela’s hand from Moira’s skull.

 

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

 

Widowmaker or: … Like that of a woman scorned.

 

The second of which, “Widowmaker” was simply the idea that, at the time, Widowmaker was going to be featured in this story. Although her role was quickly removed, she did serve a purpose in the final payoff as well as be used as further motivation to show Moira as a misogynist, complicating her motivation and personality. Funnily enough, in brainstorming, I thought that there was something missing from the removed interaction with Widowmaker, but after deliberating on it, I was able to satisfy myself and snuck in the plot points simply by adding Moira’s codename “Envy”.

 

Also, please note. If this were a part of Bad Blood Proper, I would use the correct spelling for Widowmaker’s name, but as it is I will just use Amile for the time being.

 

                                                                                               

* * *

 

 

The final VTOL landed, and the last reinforcements to Talon’s assault unloaded in two singe file lines. Moira waited, standing a few paces away from the opening to the vehicle as the squads separated and one detachment was made as her own guard.

 

Muscle was not in her wheelhouse, and she was more than happy to reserve the manpower to the other evolved monkeys present, but she instead was waiting for a more specialized individual.

 

From the dark insides of the transport, a pair of yellow eyes -much like that of a cat- appeared in the cloaked insides of the vehicle. Slowly, a woman gradually appeared out of the bulkhead door and walked down the ramp.

 

Amile Lacroix, once the prima ballerina of the Paris Ballet, the crown jewel of France and the art itself, strode onto the dirt, each step making an exaggerated swing to her hips as she held her hybrid rifle at a low wait.

 

Moira took a moment to marvel at her own handiwork. The amount of effort that she had expended into Amile had turned the woman into the perfect killing machine. Cold blooded, patient, calm, feeling no emotion except hate, rage and ecstasy at the moment of the kill.

 

Widowmaker, as she was called, stood at attention before the doctor and waited for her to finish marveling at her own creation before Moira spoke. “How are you feeling, Amile?”

 

In a cold and almost robotic fashion, she answered, “I don’t …’feel’ anymore.”

 

“Good.” Moira mused. The kidnapping and later Brainwashing of Amile Lacroix was straightforward enough, but little did anyone know that the ballerina’s previous skills made her quite the formidable assassin. Patience and grace lead to a very steady hand and unmatched skill with a rifle. A life of training and acrobatics, a skill that could disguise impressive feats of strength as natural talent, allowed her to go where no others could, make impossibilities just another avenue of entrance and escape. No one else had imagines the application of their captured asset, but then again Moira wasn’t anybody else.

 

“I will be taking you with me. It seems that our goal requires a little more… finesse.” Widowmaker was silent, here yellow eyes watching Moira as she spoke like how a cat watches a canary. “It seems some of our old friends have found their way here as well. You remember Angela and Winston. Correct?”

 

A monolith of apathy, Amile said, “Oui.”

 

Moira couldn’t help herself but smile. Gerald Lacroix, Overwatch’s first and last commissioner was the first person who had let Moira taste revenge. Her hasty and unceremonious exit from the organization was an outrage, so imagine her surprise when his wife was brought before her bound and tied. The doctor’s orders were simply to brainwash and implant an action into Amile’s mind. It was simple classical conditioning, elicit a response from a specific trigger, wait for Amile to be rescued and returned to her husband, and when the time came, to execute him in his sleep. All of the other tampering and experimental genetic therapy was unnecessary, but incredibly fulfilling as Moira had her way with Amile like a boy would take part in destroying his sister’s favorite doll while she was away.

 

Moira continued, “Leave them to me. I have some unfinished business with them…They wronged me before and I wish to return the favor.” she smirked, “I’m sure that’s something you can relate to, correct?”

 

Envy, hatred, greed, manipulation, vengeance, wrath, Doctor O’Deorain had seen it all before. The “Pretty girls” that she would observe, the ones who’s souls were as black as hell. Those emotions were the only things that brought them joy. After all of these years, Moira finally understood the intoxicating nature of it all. She couldn’t necessarily blame them for it, really. Even after all she had done to Amile, turning her skin blue, killing her senses, and ruining her mind and life, the one thing that she would not deflower was Amile’s body. With nothing less, Amile Lacroix was still beautiful, and Moira knew what her true nature was, the cutthroat instinct that rested at the heart of the pretty girls. She was sure that it was a part of her like her DNA.

 

After a moment of silence, staring directly into her Mistress’s eyes, Amile Lacroix opened her mouth and said, “Yes.”

 

* * *

 

 

Skip to Angela’s haymaker that knocked Moira’s teeth out.

 

On her back, supporting herself with her elbow, feeling a pain thought to be almost unimaginable, Moira retreated with what little strength she could coordinate and muster. Like a limp, she dug into the concrete with her elbow as her boots scrapped uselessly against the floor and scraped their way back. She could try to run as fast as she could, but she could not escape.

 

Possessed by a force that none present had ever seen within the Doctor, Angela Ziegler marched up to Moira on the ground and stood over her defeated enemy. The incredible power before her almost seemed to destroy the young Swiss Doctor as she barely held control of her own actions.  With her supporting hand, she reached down and grabbed Moira by the cuff of her armor. Instinctively, Moira raised her hands to protect herself, and in doing so saw the radio hidden on the inside wrist of her uniform.

 

Being lifted off the ground to a sitting position, Moira choked through her blood and ruined jawline, “Help… Widowmaker, help me.”

 

Angela reared back her fist, tightening the fingers together as she prepared the blow.

 

“What are you doing? Now!” Moira spat. The Irishwoman braced for the impact, but it didn’t come. Instead, she felt herself lower a bit and some of the tension seemed to leave the air. She opened her eyes, and saw Angela, still holding her up, first lowered slightly, but looking away. Moira traced the angle that the blonde was looking and laid her eyes on a dark offshoot of the service corridor. It was a maintenance tunnel, an access way to store equipment or enter and exit the shaft without having to use the main doors. There Widowmaker stood, visor locked in position, rifle extended, and although it was far away, she could see the reflection of Angela and her in the scope.

 

Checkmated, Angela seemed to pause and calm down with the realization that she had been outmaneuvered, almost as if she was looking to face her fate with dignity.

 

“Now damnit!” Moira croaked.

 

Amile’s finger tightened around the trigger, inching closer and closer until the hammer struck the primer and let the round fly, but just when she reached the rifle’s break, she stopped. Her visor opened, and she relaxed, lowering the rifle and allowing it to fold back into a compact carbine.

 

“No! what are you doing?” Moira demanded.

 

“I’m just…” she began, stepping back and disappearing into the darkness until there was nothing left but her glowing eyes standing out in the dark shadows, removing herself from play but nevertheless spectating what happened next. “…doing as I’m told”

 

Moira didn’t even have the time to look back when her world became dark.


End file.
